


Mercy

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, M/M, PWP, Tail Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a test, of sorts. Lucifer is trying to prove to himself that he can do this, as much as he is to Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from an anon on tumblr: "Samifer consensual BDSM with Dom!Lucifer. Bonus points for tail!kink and wing!kink."

He's tense, and Lucifer knows it.

"If you don't want to do this, we don't have to," Lucifer says in a carefully neutral voice.

Sam lets out the breath he's been holding, and tries to relax his shoulders. Because he knows what this means to Lucifer, knows what it's been like, giving up so much control to one of the very same creatures he's spent millennia loathing. He's been careful with Sam. He's more perceptive than Sam ever would have expected, he understands that Sam still has reservations. That it's hard for him to accept this as something that's not going to turn around and devour him when he's not expecting it. As much as Lucifer's promised he'd never hurt him, he can't help being afraid sometimes, can't help waiting for a blow that never comes.

This is a test, of sorts. Lucifer is trying to prove to himself that he can do this, as much as he is to Sam.

"I want this," he says, meeting Lucifer's gaze, and the pleased look on his face leaves a flutter in Sam's chest.

"Good," he murmurs. "Arms above your head," he says, and Sam grits his teeth and obeys.

The cuffs are made of a supple, dark leather, and they're soft where they meet his skin. He doesn't know where Lucifer got them, and he's not sure he wants to. Lucifer runs his hands up Sam's arms before cuffing his wrists to the headboard; Sam tugs at them, but they're secure. He sits back a moment, gazing at Sam, hands loose on his thighs, and Sam feels himself tensing again.

"What is it," he starts to ask, but a finger on his lips cuts him off. 

"You're beautiful like this," Lucifer says softly. "The way a caged tiger is beautiful. All that raw power, all that furious strength, contained like this. At my mercy."

The way he says it is full of quiet awe and reverence, and Sam feels himself relaxing again. Lucifer runs a hand down his neck, letting it rest over Sam's pulse, feeling it beat. There's contained power in him, too, contained power in his touch. All he'd have to do would be to squeeze gently—it'd be like crushing a fly.

His other hand wanders down Sam's bare chest, down to where the soft trail of hair begins, teasingly low without quite touching his cock. He whimpers involuntarily when Lucifer draws his hand back up, his next words spoken almost too soft to hear.

"If you change your mind—if you don't want to do this, it's okay," he says. "You can say, if you want me to stop."

Sam nods, but even if it's something of a relief to hear it out loud, he knows he's not going to. When Lucifer wants something—it's hard not to want it, too.

He watches as Lucifer slides his overshirt down his shoulders and drags his t-shirt up and over his neck. He leaves his jeans on, the front of them tenting obscenely, drag of the fabric rough against Sam's bare skin. He's surprised to find himself hard already, surprised by what this is doing to him, and he aches with the need to touch, to feel Lucifer's skin against his own.

As if aware of these thoughts, Lucifer draws his hand down Sam's chest, pressing it flat, a gentle pressure that makes something ache for more. This time he doesn't draw away, wrapping his fingers around Sam's cock and stroking it lightly. He bites down on another whimper at that, and it takes all his strength to keep himself still.

Lucifer's eyes flash at that, and he leans down, brushing his lips against Sam's ear. "You're not in control tonight, you understand?" he whispers fiercely. "You're not going to hold back on me. You're going to come screaming my name."

And fuck, if that doesn't make his already-hard cock throb. He's barely been touched, and he's already hard and leaking pre-come.

Lucifer finally— _finally_ —unzips his jeans, pulling them down and all the way off with his undershorts. Sam revels in the feel of his skin, the cool, dry, electric touch of it, and he almost expects to see sparks dancing between them where they're touching. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip at the feel of Lucifer's cock sliding against his own.

Gentle hands cup his face, tilting his chin up and tugging his lips from his teeth. "None of that," Lucifer says mildly, and then Sam's gasping for breath, because there's the feeling of something trailing up his thigh, something that _should not be there_.

"Lucifer—" he chokes out, and there's a reassuring hand stroking through his hair.

"You said you wanted all of me," Lucifer reminds him. "That means the dark parts, too." His eyes meet Sam's, and there's a hint of uncertainty in them.

He gives a shaky nod, and then chokes on another gasp when the feeling trails higher, curling lazily around his dick. The—the _tail_ , he tells himself, forces himself to think, despite the sense of _wrong_ , the way his mind immediately rejects its existence, is tracing lazy circles around his groin, before sliding in between his thighs and nudging them apart. He gets the unspoken order, and parts them further.

He's expecting it, but it's still a shock when it slides down further to trace around his hole, trailing teasingly around it without ever pressing in. Lucifer's watching him, watching how easily he can make Sam fall apart with so little effort.

The tail pulls away and Lucifer slides in between his thighs, unsnapping a bottle and slicking his fingers. He presses one finger into Sam, slowly, and Sam bears down on it without thinking, arching his back off the bed when Lucifer crooks the finger, brushing it against the inside of him. The stretch burns when he adds a second finger, always does, and he thinks that tonight in particular, Lucifer wants him to be feeling it for some time afterward.

Lucifer says his name like a prayer when he sinks into Sam, a long, sliding push that leaves them both groaning. Sam's arms are burning, and he just wants to touch, to pull Lucifer into him, run his fingers down his back to the base of his spine, where the _tail_ is twitching gently. His cock is a hot, curving line against his stomach, and he's painfully aware of how hard he is, the way each calculated thrust of Lucifer's hips leaves him gasping.

Lucifer fucks into him hard, and it's tender, but not gentle. Like he knows how much both of them need this, how much Sam needs to feel Lucifer inside him, no matter how much he protests against it, and how long Lucifer's spent waiting for—not quite this, but something like it. Sometimes Sam marvels at how satisfied he seems to be with something that can't possibly compare to his original intentions.

He must read the look on Sam's face, though, because he bends down, presses his mouth against Sam's, whispers, "You are the only thing I want. In any way you'll let me."

Because in the end, he still has so much power over the archangel. No matter how easily Lucifer takes him apart, the gamut of filthy, broken noises he wrings from Sam's mouth, he still lets Sam dictate most of the rules.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, in between ravishing Sam's mouth. "I'll never hurt you, Sam." It's a fierce promise, punctuated by another, deeper thrust, and he says, "Say you understand."

Sam groans his assent, because he's not sure he's still capable of words, let alone full sentences. His muscles are aching, and he's helpless to do anything but moan Lucifer's name and push back in time with his rhythm.

It's not enough, apparently, because Lucifer looks down at him with something unreadable in his eyes, and says again, "Say you understand, Sam, please."

He pulls himself together as best he can, and says roughly, "I understand."

There's relief in Lucifer's eyes when he pushes into Sam again, harder, faster, burying himself as deep as he can in his true vessel's body. "You know I love you," he murmurs, "you know I'd do anything to keep you safe."

He does. God help him, he does, and it's really not so bad, being the devil's beloved. He mentally revises 'not so bad' to 'mindblowingly awesome' when another particularly deep thrust brushes against his prostate, and again, and again, and he doesn't think he's going to last much longer.

"Fuck," he says, "oh _fuck_ , Lucifer—" He pushes back, trying to encourage Lucifer to take him harder, thrust deeper and faster.

"Say please," Lucifer says, a smile playing around lips.

"Please," Sam says immediately, "please, please—" The rest of his words get lost in a combination of swears and praise when Lucifer acquiesces, and then when he— _God_ , draws out entirely, and something _else_ slides in, long and slender and oh so clever, so able to find that spot that makes him see stars.

"Lucifer," he says, "Lucifer, I'm not, I'm gonna—oh fuck," he trails off with a groan, as Lucifer wraps a hand around his length, and it only takes a few strokes to bring him off, Lucifer's name on his lips when he comes.

And it's not much longer before Lucifer follows him over, murmuring "Sam, Sam," over and over against his skin.

Lucifer's just as much like an overly-friendly octopus as he always is after sex, draping himself across Sam, wrapping all his limbs around him. One hand buries itself in his hair, the other strokes down his back. "You know I love you," he says, the end of the sentence tipping up in a question.

"I love you too," Sam says, yawning. "And I will love you infinitely more if you let me out of these before you fall asleep on me." He tugs at the cuffs.

"That's not what I'm asking," Lucifer says, sounding frustrated, ignoring the request. "You know that I love you, don't you?"

Sam looks at him, this ancient being who was there to see the world created, who waited thousands of years, all for him. And he thinks, how could he doubt that kind of devotion?

"Yeah," he says. "I know."


End file.
